Early Mother's Day

Photo by Dominik Vanyi on Unsplash

Whether ten thousand miles or a whisper,

measures the distance of how close we speak,

you hear my words like a rooted anchor

every sorrow and trifle of my week.

When I’m baffled by my cookbook

it’s only you who has the answer.

Can it be possible for me to cook

without calling you, Kitchen Master?

You taught me all I couldn’t learn from books

guiding thread and needles through my hands,

and showing me the use of crochet hooks;

it’s thanks to you my mind expands.

Though I’ve flown from the safety of the nest

it’s you who pack my bags when I voyage. 

Point the way to new harbors where I rest;

when I waver, on I go with your courage.

Whether ten thousand miles or a whisper,

measures the distance of how close we speak,

you hear my words like a rooted anchor

every sorrow and trifle of my week.